Trojan Slaves Read Online Free Page B

roughly by
the shoulders. She'd fallen back on the cold stone floor, her hands
outspread, her fingers still sparkling with her wetness. He glared
at her, embarrassing her, humiliating her with his stare. He had
threatened to tell Pelador, to expose her. She said she would do
anything to stop him. She fell to her knees and begged him. She
said she could not bear the idea of public humiliation. The young
man had taken her into an alleyway behind the temple and thrashed
her with a stick. He made her bend over and hold her ankles so that
her buttocks were taut and her sex lips were exposed between them.
It hurt so much. But even as he continued her punishment she did
not pull away or beg for mercy. Even when the thin stick cut across
the swollen flesh of her cunt, and the pain stung deeply inside
her, she felt something within that drove her to submit to more.
The fear of humiliation - of exposure - mingled with the pleasure
of subordination to his control, with the joy of the punishment he
was inflicting. As the beating went on she widened her legs a
little and thrust her buttocks higher, exposing her fleshy slit to
the cutting strokes, increasing the pain, heightening her
humiliation and intensifying her pleasure. After he had finished
with her she lay in the alleyway, her fingers pressed between her
stinging flesh, gasping, panting, recovering from her overwhelming
joy.
    Sappho got
down lower behind the statue of Hera. She bit her bottom lip. In
her mind she still felt the sting from the young man's stick and
winced as she remembered it. It had burned her, scorched her flesh,
and she ran home with tears flowing from her eyes. But it had not
stopped her coming back. Indeed, the idea that she might be
discovered again filled her with a fresh flush of excitement.
    She loved
watching others like this, feeling herself, suppressing her cries
of ecstasy as she brought herself first to the edges, and then to
the depths of jerking ecstasy. This place was so exhilarating; the
scents, the worshipping followers, the sacrifice, the howling of
the ram, the chanting of the priest, and always the fear of
discovery, of humiliation. The delectable exposure to the glare of
others made her shiver with delight. The fear of being found made
her heart pound with thrilling expectation. She delighted in being
where the threat of being found was always present. And she was
here again, doing that.
    Sappho
squatted down behind a statue of Aphrodite. She liked this
position; it opened her buttocks and squeezed her sex lips. She
pulled up her robe and hitched it around her waist. Now anyone who
came past, who discovered her, would see her nakedness, see her
crouching as though she was urinating, and they would see whatever
it was she was doing. She parted her knees and felt again the cool
draught of air on her flesh. She placed the flat of her hand
against her fleshy sex and massaged it gently, feeling its warmth,
its wetness, its heat. She felt the hardness of her clitoris and
ran her fingers around its base, squeezing, provoking, making it
yearn.
    Pelador thrust
the blade of the knife into the ram's throat. It squealed loudly,
gurgling, bleating, crying out for release. He twisted the knife
and the animal was silenced. He held his arms up high and allowed
the blood of the sacrifice to run in red streams down his wrists
and arms.
    The young
girls danced around him, reaching up high in imitation of him,
stretching their firm breasts and tightening their already taut
bodies. They touched his blood-soaked arms and rubbed themselves
with it, smearing their pale skin with wide red lines, rubbing it
around their breasts, down their flat stomachs and onto their
thighs.
    Two dropped to
their knees and began smearing each other with the blood. They
seemed in a trance, rubbing each other's faces and breasts. They
embraced each other, kissing and squirming wildly as excitement
seized them and took control. Another girl joined them, holding
onto the first two, licking